


Cider

by MistoffLikeKristoff



Series: The Object of My Affection [1]
Category: Cats (2019), Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Smooching, mr mistoffelees is baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoffLikeKristoff/pseuds/MistoffLikeKristoff
Summary: Munkustrap had a big smile on his face, Mistoffelees noted, and he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that it conjured.  Munk was nice to everyone.  That was kind of his whole deal.
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees/Munkustrap
Series: The Object of My Affection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623436
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	Cider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowhite_dahlia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowhite_dahlia/gifts).



“Skimbleshanks, you son of a bitch!”

Munkustrap ducked under the barista counter and popped up on the other side with a grace that Mistoffelees frankly found offensive. With alarming speed, Munk ran at the stranger (Skimbleshanks, he supposed?), who was still brushing snow off his coat and Mistoffelees didn’t know if he should panic.

Had he even heard Munk use a curse word before?

Mistoffelees accepted he had misread the situation as Munk pulled Skimble into an aggressive hug, kissing the man on both cheeks. Ah, this was a _positive_ “son of a bitch”. Mistoffelees set about polishing a lipstick stain off a mug so as not to stare. He stared at Munk a lot.

With an impossibly warm grin on his face, Munk ushered Skimble up to the counter. “Mistoffelees, meet Skimbleshanks. He’s an old friend.”

“Careful throwing about ‘old’,” Skimble winked. “Nice to meet you, kid.”

Mistoffelees felt a familiar flush rising to his cheeks. “H-hullo. Can I make you s-something?”

Skimbleshanks was already on to the next thing, chucking a large duffel of something… very fragrant… onto an empty table. “Munk, you are going to lose your mind at these new hops. Incredible depth of aroma. I can’t wait to try a new batch with this.”

Munk pulled a small plant bud out of the bag and Mistoffelees couldn’t resist getting closer to investigate. “Skimble brews that beer we sell from time to time,” Munk explained with his typical patience. “You’ve been gone for, what, a month now? Always railing around Scotland, sourcing weird stuff to throw in your ales.”

Skimble gave Munk a light shove. “That’s an awfully rude way to describe my dedication to craft.” Munk responded with a playful bow in apology.

Mistoffelees picked up a flower from the duffel and held it up to his nose. His nose wrinkled at the bitterness, unable to disguise his displeasure. Munk laughed. “Mistoffelees is more of a cider kid.”

“Cider? That’s just apple juice for grown-ups, there’s no ART to it, and let me tell you why--” Skimble launched into a speech that was clearly well-rehearsed and needed no particular audience. Mistoffelees took the opportunity to scurry back behind the counter and look busy, while Skimble and Munk chatted amicably.

Munk had a big smile on his face, Mistoffelees noted, and he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that it conjured. Munk was nice to everyone. That was kind of his whole deal. But Mistoffelees couldn’t quiet a voice from deep inside, that whispered avaricious things about the man who had taken him in. He pointedly averted his gaze and set to organizing the decorative teacups on the back shelf.

* * *

It had been months since Mistoffelees had been kicked out of the house. A few months of couch surfing, a roommate situation that had fallen apart due to, well, everyone involved being broke as hell, and no real job opportunities meant Mistoffelees spent most of his time on the street. He didn’t mind that, really. He would carefully arrange his small fold-up table, pull out a deck of cards, and perform some street magic for change.

In the summer, change was plentiful. Kids liked his shows. They liked when he would toss a ball in the air and it never came down, instead reappearing in his coat pocket. They’d get quarters from their moms and flip them into his upturned hat.

In the autumn, the foot traffic skewed older, adults headed to Big Business Things with no time to stop for a bit of prestidigitation. Fewer people bothering to acknowledge that he too was trying to do honest work for honest money-- he just wanted to bring a little joy to your day!

Then it was winter and he realized he was basically homeless with no money and no plan and oh god what was he going to do. He couldn’t go back home, his friends had scattered, and so he found himself on the street. He hovered above a grate puffing out lukewarm air, with his little card table balanced carefully on the rungs. His hands were shaking in his fingerless gloves but he was going to keep performing, because what else was he good for-- when a man came up to his table, and met his eyes, wet from despair that perhaps he could excuse away as the cold?

The man was a little older, in a big grey coat and matching knit cap, and without a word he folded up Mistoffelees’ little table, tucked it under his arm, took Mistoffelees by the hand and started walking. Was he dead? Was this a Little Match Girl situation and this angel was escorting him to the afterlife?

The stranger chuckled and Mistoffelees realized he must have said that out loud. “My name is Munkustrap, you’re not dead yet, but please come inside and warm up for a bit?”

Now Mistoffelees was full-on sobbing. What a sight they must be, he thought, this beautiful man dragging a crying gremlin to who-knows-where, feet crunching as the snow had just started to stick.

Looking back on it now, he supposed he’s lucky he wasn’t murdered. But Munkustrap just has this incredible aura about him that inspires instant trust. And that’s how he ended up sleeping on Munk’s couch and living in his apartment and working in his coffee shop.

And if Mistoffelees felt an incredible affection for Munk, who could blame him? He saved his life and gave him a new one. All the kids working in the cafe were starving artists in one way or another, and Munk had introduced him to a club that let him do magic tricks on open mic nights. And the tricks mostly went pretty good! Sometimes. The owner of the cafe also owned the club, apparently, and she was a big mysterious patron of the arts, god bless her. Mistoffelees didn’t know everybody’s names yet but he would do his best to earn his place.

He wanted Munk to see him, to truly see him, and be proud.

* * *

“How long have you known Skimbleshanks?”

Munk looked up from the oven and hummed a bit. “Feels like forever-- at least a decade.”

Mistoffelees worried at his bottom lip absent-mindedly. “Ah, that’s nice,” he said without authenticity. He was perched on the back of the sofa, body too tense for lounging, traitorous heart filling with jealousy.

Munk stirred the pot of soup with a contemplative smile. I guess that’s it, then, Mistoffelees thought. Why would he want to be with a dumb kid who can’t take care of himself, when he can be with an actual adult who has accomplishments and creates things and

“Mistoffelees?”

The sound of his name startled him off the back of the couch, legs in the air, his back landing on the plush seat. Munkustrap laughed and ran over to assist, ruffling his hair as he lifted him up. Mistoffelees’ hand lingered in Munk’s and he felt tears welling up that he wished he could magic away.

“Mistoffelees, are you alright? Did you hit your head?” Munk’s gentle laughter turned to concern and his earnestness only made Mistoffelees more upset.

“You can’t be so nice to me,” Mistoffelees whispered, trying to bury his face and his tears and everything about this moment forever. “You can’t be so nice to me when you are so nice to everyone and I cannot bear it.”

He couldn’t look at Munk, couldn’t see his reaction, couldn’t be hated, couldn’t be pitied. He kept his face stubbornly turned to the floor, until gentle fingers lifted his chin. “Please look at me,” Munk said quietly, but Mistoffelees kept his eyes screwed shut, tears leaking from the corners and betraying him completely. He was weighing his options--the front door, the fire escape, death--when he felt soft warm lips press against his own.

The gambit worked; Mistoffelees’ eyes flew open, tears shocked to a halt. Munk was kissing him. Munk was _kissing him_. It took an interminably long time for his brain to reset and then he was kissing him back, teasing his lips open to deepen the kiss, starving for it. Munk’s body was taut, clearly not expecting this level of response, but Mistoffelees cupped his face to pull him closer, closer, impossibly close, and Munk pressed the lines of their bodies together.

“Please,” Mistoffelees whispered, he wasn’t sure what he was asking for but he knew he wanted more, all of him, when the furious sound of an overboiling pot broke the two apart.

“Fuck,” Munk muttered as he ran to turn off the burner, potato bits splattering around the kitchen.

That’s two curses in one day, Mistoffelees thought to himself, a bit proud if he was being honest.

Munk straightened his back, took a deep breath. “I’m going to clean this up, we’re going to eat what’s salvageable for dinner, and then we are going to have a very long and very thorough talk about healthy relationships and consent.”

“Consent?” Mistoffelees’ voice cracked. He wondered if death was still an option.

Munk began ladeling the soup into bowls. “And if you are going to get this jealous every time I see an old friend, you’re going to be a miserable boyfriend.”

Mistoffelees flushed the reddest his pale skin had ever been. Could he die from this? He was definitely going to die from this.

Munk was smirking a bit, perhaps in bemusement, but mostly with overwhelming affection. “Now eat, so we can get to the good part.”

**Author's Note:**

> Snowhite_dahlia was formulating a Coffee Shop AU, so I think this is more like a fanwork of her fanwork. A matryoshka of kitten boys smooching.  
> Thank you for reading!


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